Death's Last Days With the Dying

The Speed Ticket

Memory 064

My companion, still in his dark, grey suit took off his sunglasses and tossed it to me. “Watch this pro.” He walked to the only living being in the alleyway we went to after he ate his ravioli and my pancake, an elder man in ragged clothes rummaging in a trash bin.

“What's his ticket?” I asked. The elder neither heard nor saw us.

“Heart attack,” replied my companion. “I'm the speed ticket.” He turned into smoke and entered the elder's nostrils. The old man dropped to one knee, one hand on his chest, and started mentally begging for life.